


Everything I've Ever Wanted

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Series: No One Here Wants To Fight Me Like You Do [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield





	Everything I've Ever Wanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maddiepants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddiepants/gifts).



this is a continuation of [another of @maddiepants prompts](https://thoughtslikeaminefield.tumblr.com/post/185327667328/dont-look-at-me-with-that-tone-of-eyebrow) – both are prequels to [Combat Baby](https://thoughtslikeaminefield.tumblr.com/post/184599111953/combat-baby).

* * *

“OK, keep it wrapped, tough guy,” Ellen says, finishing with Dean’s bandage.

“Always do,” Dean says with a wink.

“TMI, smart ass,” Mom replies. “But, good to know you’re bein’ safe out there.” She packs up the first aid kit then turns to me. “I’m headed to bed.”

I nod, slightly confused by her pointedness. “Just a bit more to do here,” I say. Then I see her eyeing Dean as if his condom joke has anything to do with me.

“Well,” Mom starts, shifting uncertainly. “Dean, you can have the back bunk. There’re clean sheets and all.” Her eyes dart to mine, and I shake my head in confusion. She throws up her hands and stomps toward the stairs to our apartment.

Dean showed up with a gut wound, not too deep but deep enough for patching. Sam’s off somewhere with Rowena on a case, so Dean thought running recon on his own was OK. He was wrong.

“Good thing you were close,” I say, swinging the knife he gave me the last time I saw him, reading, trying to concentrate on anything but his mouth and jaw and his chest rising and falling with each breath.

Dean turns to face me, and I let myself look at him. He holds my gaze. “Yeah,” he says, his eyes dragging down and across my shoulders or collarbones or maybe by tits, and… it makes me shiver.

“Cold?” he asks, his gaze lazy but warm, slides back up to meet mine.

We’ve fought side-by-side, saved the world together; we’ve had… _moments_ ; but Dean will never see me as anything but a little sister. I’m not getting my hopes up here. At all.

“No,” I answer, shifting, uncomfortable, trying to refocus on research. He’s high on pain killers, right? And whiskey. He’s just… he’s not looking at me _like that_. “What’d my mom give you for the pain, anyway?” I ask.

Dean raises his glass of whiskey. “Advil and Jack,” he says, sliding from the barstool and waltzing closer to my table.

“Sure she didn’t give you a roofie?” I ask with a scoff.

“What?” he asks, setting his glass on the table. “Why?”

“You’re just…” I shrug. “Acting weird.”

Dean furrows his brow. “Weird how?” he asks. There’s a tone in his voice like he’s _flirting_ , and I _hate it_.

“Stop it,” I say, and it’s almost a whisper.

“Stop what?” he asks, rounding the table. That tone is still lacing his words; coupled with his growing proximity, I’m full-body chilled.

Dean leans over my shoulder, looking down at the book I’m reading with what appears to be genuine interest, but there’s a charge in the air. He’s too close, yet not close enough.

“What’re you doing?” I whisper.

“Uhh, trying to figure out what the fuck this thing is that attacked me?” he says, chuckling.

“Do you have to do it so close?” I ask, scooting my chair away from him.

Dean’s face twists in confusion and he stands, squares his hips and pushes his hands in his pockets. “Since when am I too close?” he asks with a grin.

I feel my hackles rise and I am so fucking tired of him fucking with me, playing with me, teasing me, making me think-

“Fuck you, Dean,” I say, slamming the book closed and pushing my chair away from the table and standing, turning to head to my room.

“That’n invitation?” I hear him ask, and I stop dead in my tracks.

For three whole breaths, I stand stock still, letting his words ring in my ears. He’s never crossed this line, never gone this far. I feel him move closer.

“Don’t play with me,” I say, and his warm hands wrap my shoulders, gently run down the length of my arms to my wrist then his fingers are twining with mine.

“I’m not,” he says, his voice is quiet, the guile and teasing are gone, replaced with heat and craving. “Not anymore, sweetheart.”

I draw a deep breath and turn on my heels, grab his face in my hands and take the plunge. I pull him in for a kiss.

His hands are on my waist, gripping and exploring under my top. He’s backing me toward the door to the outside. “Your mom’s gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he mutters around my lips.

I twist the knob to let us outside and he kicks the door shut behind us, never takes his hands off me, keeps us moving toward the bunkroom.

Then I’m backed against the door and he’s pressed against me and this is everything I have ever wanted – since the moment I saw him. He’s pressed against me full and hot, knee between my thighs, hands around my hips, his mouth is so warm and slick and demanding yet sweet and gentle. It’s everything I’ve ever thought Dean would be. _He’s_ everything.

He lifts me, wraps my legs around his hips, opens the door, kicks that one shut, too, sets me on my feet and pulls his mouth from mine long enough to get my top over my head. I’m pushing at his clothes, all of them; I want him, _all of him_.

“You sure about this?” he asks, eyes boring into mine as he unfastens my jeans.

“That is the dumbest thing you’ve ever asked me,” I say, helping him get my pants open and pushing his hand inside my underwear, push his thick middle finger into my wet slit.

“Feel that?” I ask, and his eyes droop, he licks his lips and moves into me. “That’s all for you,” I say. “Always has been.”

He ducks in to kiss me again, pushes me toward the bed and makes me sit before dropping to his knees and yanking my pants over my hips. As he lowers his face to my cunt, I sigh deep and long and let myself fall back onto the featherbed mattress.

Everything I’ve ever wanted. Right here.


End file.
